


In the End

by onetoughcookie



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt MacGyver, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetoughcookie/pseuds/onetoughcookie
Summary: Taking place after s1e21. Mac is seriously injured from the fight-turned-explosion in the labs, and nobody even realizes it. Jack has always come to his rescue in the past, and he always will in the future: this case is no exception.





	In the End

Jack could hardly focus on the debriefing. His whole body ached, his shoulders, knees and back burning at the slightest breath or motion. And yet, Mattie kept talking. A dozen-or-so other agents sat with them at a large, oval oakwood table, each exhausted and slumping in their seats. Foods and assorted beverages were splayed like a party’s setup across the tabletop, but no hands were reaching.

He would have thought that Mattie Webber would take a hint. Everyone was tired? Let them go home. Settle the debriefing later, when eyes were open and backs were straight, ready to face the day.

No, instead she wanted to do it now. _Typical_ , Jack snorted. If he had a dollar for every time Mattie did something that grated against everyone’s flow, he would be filthy fucking rich.

His eyes flashed to his right, where MacGyver sat - slouched - in his seat. Unlike the others, where their heads hit the table and arms were dragged up to become temporary pillows, Mac was leaning back in his chair, arms folded tightly over his torso in a white-knuckled grip. The veins in Mac’s neck seized as he clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

Focused. He was focusing. Hard. On what? The debriefing? Sure as shit not, because nobody else was. It seemed as if Mac’s gaze was glazed over. He was looking in Mattie’s direction, but he was not seeing her, not really.

Jack cleared his throat quietly and turned away.

The kid was tired. No, it was something more. Through his periphery, Jack glanced at Mac. The kid’s chest rose in sharp succession and he looked pale, ashen like the bone-white walls of the conference room.

Mattie seemed to notice. Busted. Jack pursed his lips.

“Agent MacGyver, is there something wrong?” Heads turned towards Mac, and flushed momentarily returned to his cheeks only to prove his embarrassment.

He stumbled over his words, “Ah, no, no ma’am. I- I’m fine.” Slurred a bit, Jack noted. Almost too much for it to be acceptable.

“Is that so?” Mattie’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, we’ll just have the medical team ask that then. Dalton,” Jack stiffened. “Escort him to medical.”

Jack hesitated before snapping out of his chair. His muscles shrieked in protest as he walked to Mac’s seat. Mattie pulled the attention back to her as she began to talk once more. Jack knelt down.

“Hey bud, let’s get outta of here.” Jack whispered. Mac didn’t move at all. He looked in pain. “What’re you still sittin’ around for, cowboy? Let’s go.”

Mac swallowed thickly. “I-” Another swallow. Sharp. Heavy. His breath hitched. “I can’t.”

Next to him, another agent stared. “Are you all right, agent MacGyver?”

Mac didn’t bother to wave her off. Instead, he grabbed Jack’s sleeve, finding his arm through the fabric. His grip was a sting. “Jack,” Mac was sweating now, finding it hard to talk. He finally looked down at his partner. “Jack. Bathroom. _Now._ ”

Oh.

“Yessir.” Jack rose to his feet. Thank the good _god_ they were sitting in the back of the room. He hooked one hand under Mac’s upper arm and the other around his back. With a puff of exertion, Jack heaved Mac to his feet and the two swept out of the conference room and into the hallway within seconds.

The bathroom was mere steps away. Unfortunately, a petite plastic trash can was closer. _Unfortunate for the trash can._ Jack thought. _Pity._

Mac toppled to his knees, hands flying to the rim of the bin, and began heaving. Jack turned away at first, crinkling his nose. An air of mercy washed over him as he settled down next to the kid, one hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, buddy.” Jack soothed. “Just let it out. We’ll hide the trash can later. Nobody’ll even know we were here.” Over his shoulder, Jack could see some of the people from the conference room watching. However, upon being spotted by Jack, they turned their heads, raised their eyes, looking anywhere but at Mac and Jack.

Mac coughed and spluttered. His stomach convulsed as another wave of vomit surged up his throat and into the trashcan, wet and acidic and tasting sour. It was gross. Mac _felt_ gross.

Jack, however, was more concerned now. Mac was healthy. He was young - _really_ young - and spry, and didn’t have any issue to be sick in such sudden succession. Jack felt his heart skip. No way in hell he was going to let something happen to Mac. No _way_.

“Hey Mackie, you eat somethin’ bad in the conference room?” A poor attempt at a joke. The air was too thick to be lightened. He knew the answer was no. “What’s up? You hit your head? Did that little skirmish earlier rough you up too much? Talk to me, buddy.”

Jack Dalton was no doctor. He was _far_ from the do-no-harm status, but when Mac finally stopped coughing up the contents of his innards and wilted against the wall next to him in a sweaty, sad mess, Jack couldn’t help but check him out.

He cupped Mac’s cheeks, calloused thumbs absently brushing the dirt and grime and involuntary tears away. The kid’s skin was feverish. When he looked at Jack, his normal sea eyes had turned a moldy grey, the blacks of his pupils blown up, swallowing the color of his irises.

 _Shit._ Concussion. Jack had a sinking feeling. He knew what was going on. But he was hoping some good old fashion denial chased with suffocating optimism would change that.

“Mac, we gotta get you to a hospital. Medical’s no good now, buddy. We gotta go.” And that was that. Jack lifted Mac up against his will, pulling him into a rather rudimentary carry with Mac slung over Jack’s aching shoulders like a beach towel. Mac was unnervingly still, not protesting in the slightest against the sudden violation of his personal bubble or the quick shift in movement.

Jack began walking. His steps were clunky with the added weight as he headed for the elevators. Mac’s head knocked against his side every few steps. “Hey Mac, you still with me?” No response. He stopped in front of the metal doors and slammed the button into its socket. “Mac, you all right?”

Quiet followed. Jack shifted. His eyes were wide with focus. “Angus, answer me. You awake?” Silence. “ _Angus? Are you okay?”_

Apparently not.

Holding Mac’s with one hand and leaning forward, he fished his phone from his pocket and dialed Riley.

“Hey Rhi, how far away is the hospital you’re at?” Jack’s voice rang with nonchalant anxiety.

Riley paused. “About five minutes. Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Jack shrugged his head. “I’m just carryin’ Mac on my shoulders. I think he passed out. Wanna pick us up?”

“ _What?!”_ There was clutter on the other end, Riley speaking to someone - probably Bozer, if he was awake - and then, “I’m on my way, I’ll be there in two minutes.”

 

* * *

 

True to her word, Riley’s car stopped at the curb of the Phoenix Foundation soon after Jack had stepped outside and down the front steps. Riley jumped out of the car, pulling open the back seat door. Her hands hovered as Jack backed up and knelt down sideways.

“Grab him, Rhi.” And she did. Riley pulled Mac up off Jack’s one shoulder, enough to have him roll off Jack’s back and into her arms. It was a rather clumsy dismount, but Jack couldn’t complain.

Mac seemed to be awake, his eyes cracked open from the crude tumble he just took. Riley cradled his head as his gangly limbs squirmed sluggishly and without purpose. He was too disoriented to be alert, but awake enough to work with.

Jack reached out for him. “Mac, good timing. Wanna get into the back seat with me?” He hooked both his arms under Mac’s, lifting the kid up until they were awkwardly chest-to-chest, and Mac stumbled. His footing was loose, as if standing on free gravel. He steadied himself using Jack’s arms, and pulled away slightly.

“Whappn’d?” Jack could barely understand him. His words were so slurred it took a moment. _What happened._ Mac frowned, followed by, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Jack shook his head. “No time, kid.” He guided Mac into the back seat and crawled in after him. Riley slammed the door shut behind them and rushed to the front. She was in the car and peeling away from the curb within seconds.

Next to him, Mac sat still. He looked like a shell-shocked kitten, his eyes being the only thing moving. They were, unfortunately, still bloodshot and big, concussed and sickly looking.

Jack pulled Mac back against his chest. It would make the sharp turns of the car easier on the blond, but also easier on Jack. He knew where Mac was and could help him. His heart hammered hard against his ribs, but he willed himself to remain calm. Mac didn’t need chaos right now - especially when he was somewhat delirious and not in his right mind. He needed stability, the one thing Jack always tried to offer, and nothing was going to stop him from being the rock in Mac’s life--

Suddenly, Mac’s head fell back against Jack’s shoulder. His eyes were on Jack, for a moment, before they rolled back and Mac’s whole body sagged. Jack gathered him closer, one arm locked across his torso and the other around his waist. “Riley, _go faster._ ” A command. No joke in his voice, no flutter to his words. Cold, serious, and demanding.

 

* * *

 

Jack hated carrying people. People were heavy and, usually, people were either squirming like a floppy fish or were dead weight like…well…the dead. It was no fun. It required straining himself for someone else’s gain, and was physically exhausting.

But with Mac, not so much.

Sure, the kid was light. Less than one-hundred-forty pounds. But that wasn’t the point. It was because Mac was _family_ , like a brother or a son that Jack never had. That is why Mac was different, and _always_ _would be_ different.

Mac was all too quiet and unresponsive. Jack cradled him against his chest as he busted through the doors of the emergency room, calling for any and all attention. Nurses and on-call doctors flooded around him as a gurney was wheeled towards the crowd.

Mac was dead weight - like the dead - but not dead. His head lolled, mouth hanging open, and his arms and legs swung with every movement Jack made, but under all the dead weight was a pulse, was breathing, was an occasional bob of his throat and or unconscious groan of pain.

Angus MacGyver was alive. And Jack would make sure of it.

He lowered Mac onto the gurney, all too carefully, before he was wheeled away. Behind him, Riley was silent. Still. Scared, most likely. Mac had never showed vulnerability in front of her - hell, he _rarely_ showed it in front of Jack. To see Mac like this was something new and terrifying. To see him weak and hurting and not being able to protect everyone, it was so out-of-character that it shook Jack to the core. He understood what Riley was feeling.

Jack’s chest heaved, his arms instinctively flexing. A twisted thought, but he missed carrying Mac, because at least when he was carrying Mac, holding him, he could look after him. Now Mac was gone. Jack had to trust in others to help him.

That wasn’t exactly what Jack would call “cool”.

 

* * *

 

Seconds passed into minutes, and minutes faded into hours.

Jack tried to occupy himself with Riley and Bozer. Both seemed chatty and cheery despite the circumstances. Jack wanted to tell them to stop talking, tell them that the baby of their group was lying in a hospital bed unconscious, and may never wake up. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

 _He had a serious, grade-three concussion,_ the doctor had told them, all three of them, _Why was he not brought to the hospital sooner? There’s no way to tell what kind of damage his brain has sustained, if any._

Though the doctor had more to say, Jack didn’t want to listen. Earlier in the evening, before the mess and complications and fear, Jack had told Mac to go to the conference. To “man up” and “take it like a champ”. Jack thought there was going to be congratulations for the man who stopped the bio-virus from escaping the Foundation. Instead, there was talking. Lots of talking. Lecturing and drilling and insisting that the Phoenix Foundation wasn’t strong enough, that this shouldn’t have happened, that none of this _should have happened_.

Guilt swallowed Jack. It bit at his throat and squeezed his sternum. Yet he sat quietly in the chair next to Riley’s, hands folded in his lap, eyes on the tile floor.

“Jack, it’s not your fault.” Riley said. She nudged his arm. “We all should have done something. I mean,” She scoffed. “He got _blown up_ , Jack. Beaten up and nearly caught on fire and _thrown_ and we didn’t do anything.”

The air turned black and thick like tar and Jack couldn’t breathe in it. He surged out of the room and into the hallway, sucking in all the oxygen his lungs could get.

“Mr. Dalton?” A nurse called. He turned to her.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, what’s up?” He sagged. “Is it Mac?”

The nurse nodded. “Mr. MacGyver is awake and asking for you.”

For a moment, the world stopped and Jack froze. He felt his mouth pop open and eyes widen, and didn’t try to stop it. His awe broke into happiness as he pushed past the nurse, shouting a “thank you!” down the hall.

Mac’s room was a bit far, but with adrenaline, sleep deprivation, and four coffees, Jack was sprinting down the hallway and stumbling into Mac’s room.

Angus MacGyver, _that_ _sonofabitch_ , was breathing and awake. Sitting upright, fiddling with his medical bracelet. He was as alert one could be while drugged to the teeth with morphine and pain killers. Mac turned his head and eyes met Jack’s and, for a second, Jack thought he would scream from the overflowing happiness.

Instead, he settled for, “You’re okay?”

Mac nodded. “I’m okay.” A simple response. “And are you?”

Jack’s smile fell and he drooped a bit. He seemed to deflate as he wandered from the doorway and dropped into a chair. “I’m okay now.”

“Now?” Mac’s eyes narrowed. The kid always had a calculated swagger to his movement. Precise and logical. Even his fidgeting was genius.

Jack, on the other hand, was the _definition_ of emotional. He gestured greatly towards Mac. “Yeah, _now_ , now that you’re okay and awake and not havin’ to be carried everywhere and-” Jack licked his lips and sighed. “-and not dead.” He settled into the chair. Mac’s gaze fell.

“It was that bad, huh?” Mac smiled sheepishly. “I don’t remember much. I felt sick, threw up a little, it was a bit embarrassing, but then after that…” His voice trailed off.

Jack shook his head. “Bad? _Yeah_ , it was bad all right. I had to carry you everywhere and you ain’t light,” A lie. “So you better lose weight kid,” Another lie. Mac was too skinny. “’Cuz if I’m gonna be carryin’ you everywhere then I want it easy on my arms. Got it?”

Instantly, Jack wished he could swallow all of what he just said. Take it back. Devour it. Digest it and shit it out along with all the other bullshit he’d been through. Mac looked a bit dumbstruck. However, he nodded and then said, “So you were worried…”

No more lies. No more diverting the truth. No more pretending and joking to avoid fear. Jack nodded. His voice broke, “Yes.” Tears swelled in his eyes and he blinked them back only for them to spring up and spill down his cheeks. “Yes, Mac, I was worried. I was scared. I was _sick_ with fear.”

Mac sighed. He folded a bit into himself.

Jack continued, “Because it’s not every day that you gotta carry your partner to the hospital. Literally _carry_ , Mac. You _weren’t movin’_. I thought the worst. That I killed you or somethin’ because I told you to go to that conference when I really should’a told you to go to the hospital.”

Jack wiped the tears with his dirty sleeve, probably getting more dust on his face. But who gave a shit, really? He was tired and beaten down emotionally and physically and only five-or-so hours ago he was fighting for his life. For everyone’s lives. For _Mac’s_ life.

“I love you, man,” Jack coughed. “I love you, and you’re like a brother to me. Or a son. Or somethin’, and I don’t care about technicalities ‘cuz you’re important to me.” He took a deep breath. Mac was on the verge of crying, too, it seemed. His eyes glistened like glass as he stared at Jack with a heavy-lidded gaze.

“Please don’t _ever_ do that again. I know _you_ don’t think you’re important _but I do_ and _I love you_ and I don’t ever, _ever_ wanna go through that again ya’ hear me?”

Mac nodded.

Jack stood abruptly, and for a moment, Mac thought he would storm off. But instead Jack’s warm arms slipped around Mac’s slender frame, pulling him close. Jack hiccupped. “I love you, buddy.”

Mac sniffled. “I love you too, man.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey kids. So this was my first fanfiction in a very long time. It's been about four years, and I only read through this once for mistakes. So I apologize if it ain't up to par with what you like.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the read. Have a cool day or night or whatever.
> 
> \--Lee


End file.
